Trevor - 39

Parts of me were convinced that what I remembered of my early life must have been a dream, there’s no way this happened to me. I would experience random flashbacks, wondering if the painful visions were a dream or a reliable memory, something I learned later as a symptom of trauma or PTSD. 

I was raised primarily by my mom, in an unfinished house with exposed plywood floors, exposed electrical sockets, and bare unfinished wood stairs that I descended each morning to meet the latest chaos. Feeling helpless and powerless, my world would spin out of control around me. My mother had to work for days at a time as a flight attendant, my father would leave for weeks at a time as an addict. It was lonely. Lonely even when I wasn’t alone because I was left with babysitters I barely knew. I remember praying for it to not be another abusive experience, with some stranger, that I had no choice but to trust.  I just wanted to feel safe, but I never knew what was next. There was no room in my home for my experience, my emotions, my fear. It was always too much. The sadness, the loneliness, grasping for any source of security. The phrase I often repeated to myself was, “Shut up Trevor, don’t say a word”.

My younger life was met with a mom that had very little resources or capacity to keep me protected. I had a father that would beat the shit out of her right in front of me. I have a vivid memory of peering through the steps of my home, as a toddler, clutching my bear, watching as my father would scream obscenities as he asphyxiated my mother. I learned very quickly that no one outside of me knew how to keep themselves safe and certainly didn’t want to, or know how to, keep me safe. 

This was not a dream, no, it was a fucking nightmare.

Although, I now realize the parts of me that call this a nightmare are the parts of me that want to remain separate from this experience, to keep me, in essence, dissociated from my trauma. It has been through listening to my young self, who experienced all this hurt, that I’ve found peace, and integration.

My whole life, my nervous system ran high with stress, reactivity, and anxiety. Always ready for a fight, I would lash out and wonder why, or how, I “lost it” on someone. All the little boy inside of me wanted was to be loved, but he was constantly poised in a defensive stance, expecting the worst. 

As I grew older, and my inner world felt further entrenched in a conflicting confusion between the need to defend and the deep desire to be loved, alcohol and drugs became my greatest allies in settling this internal conflict, this whirlwind of anxiety, so I could sleep, and live my life. I learned to surround myself with people that fed the addictions, so I could further distance myself from my pained parts. 

When I pushed all the people that were close away from me, and was on the cusp of losing my family, this real threat pushed me to take a deep look at myself, and the nightmare started to unfold into reality. A reality that was full of shadows and patterns that did not serve me, deep pain that deserved attention even if it felt scary.

When I brought curiosity, it led to the question of why was I so anxious, so reactive, so aggressive? My inner parts that were bound by shame, embarrassment, and protecting me from further harm, showed me how harmed a little boy can be when left to the vices of other adults around him that could too easily take advantage of him.

Faced with the ultimatum of looking at myself or having my family leave me, I reached out for help, I explored options until I found the one that felt right for me. Finding a men’s group allowed me a space to express myself, my deepest-darkest thoughts were welcomed. The experience in the men’s group helped me realize that when we are motivated to make change, the universe will deliver us what we need.

In my second year of the group, we are posed with what seemed like a benign question: “what was your first sexual experience and what did you learn?” As I sat in a circle of trusted men, brothers, I shared my first sexual experience about when I was molested, as a 5-year-old child. This circle allows this nightmare to morph into something I can begin to grasp, that I made into a fantasy as a strategy to protect my psyche, and to my surprise, there’s enough safety and space in this circle to invite it in. The fight that has been at the surface my whole life, comes rushing out of my body in a flurry of screams of anguish, and blows of pain and rage that never, under safe circumstances, were allowed to be felt or witnessed. There was no judgment or criticism from this group, as I have judged and criticized myself. Only compassion, care, and acceptance, which transforms my critical parts into an acceptance that I am not broken and worthy of love. It had nothing to do with me. 

I realized from this, how hard parts of me worked at repressing painful memories as a strategy to stay functional in this world, my body never forgot. The dream was felt, the part of me that had been locked away, that was begging to be seen, loved, and taken care of was surfacing and finally able to breathe the air of the present day. 

From that day forward my relationship with alcohol and substances changed forever. They were no longer a tool to keep parts of me quiet. As I was able to see my boy, I, the adult man, can give him the protection he never had. I can speak for my anger, for my disagreement and not speak from them.

I continue to unravel the chaos of my youth and early adulthood so that I can show up more fully as me. In my present life, I help others confront such challenges. I am now able to use the strength from what my inner world endured to both heal myself and support others to find their inner Self.

Your parts know, your body knows. Listen, and know others will listen too.

Music - Trevor’s music choices during our photo session included Florence and the Machine, Odessa, Mobb Deep and Justice.